


he says be cool (i don't know how yet)

by deuslouis



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Fluff, M/M, Nipple Play, Weddings, honestly just gross flirty fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-06
Updated: 2015-06-06
Packaged: 2018-04-03 02:06:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4082596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deuslouis/pseuds/deuslouis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I guess you can <em>bar-ely</em> handle being at this wedding,” Harry says smugly, waving a hand along the top of the bar. </p><p>Louis groans, shaking his head. “That was awful.”</p><p>Harry frowns indignantly, put out by Louis’ lack of uproarious laughter. “No it wasn’t! That was really good!”</p><p>“Honestly terrible, love.”</p><p> </p><p>[or, the one where louis doesn't like weddings and harry's a dopey bartender at one.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	he says be cool (i don't know how yet)

Louis really just hates weddings, is the thing.

 

Okay, so maybe he doesn't _hate_ them, but on principle he wasn't a particular fan of the whole ordeal. It was just too full of crying and girls clawing over bouquets claiming they’d surely be next on the altar, too full of uncomfortable blokes thinking about the whole concept of ‘till death do we part’. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to get married, he’d really quite like to find a nice guy to settle down with, he just wasn't really a fan of being a single guest who didn’t have anyone to get obscenely drunk with. It’s just that there’s an open bar, what else is he supposed to do?

 

And since Zayn had left him high and dry last minute claiming he finally scored a date with some guy he worked with at the museum, the twat, here he is, fiddling with his phone like some hermit and avoiding eye contact with the woman who’s been tossing him coy looks throughout the entire second half of the ceremony. He’s not nearly drunk enough to tell her off and give her the heads up that she’s not really on the team he plays for, which in itself is really the problem here.

 

Louis passed the point of slight regret about an hour ago and is currently in a state of self pity that would really put just about anyone  to shame, dwelling on the fact he probably could've finished half a season of Come Dine With Me by now for what’s maybe an impractical amount of time. Could be dressed in sweats and a t-shirt, instead of this stuffy tailored suit and ungodly expensive shoes.

 

He debates briefly on just walking out and hoping that he goes unnoticed, but the idea of Simon finding out that he left a major client’s wedding to catch up on his shows keeps him rooted to the seat he’s been rooted to at the bar for about twenty minutes now. And he’s pretty sure it’s twenty minutes, considering he’s been checking his phone every thirty seconds to see if he can leave yet and the answer is still a resounding no. It’s a tragedy, really.

 

He’s just finished his forth game of Flappy Bird when he hears a deep voice from behind the bar, closer than he would’ve expected.

 

“Do you not like it?”

 

His eyes snap up from his phone, cartoon bird plummeting pathetically before he shuts it off completely. The bartender is leaning over the bar, face cradled in his hands and _alright_ , this boy is unfairly pretty, big green eyes staring at him in a way that’s too sweet to be as innocent as he wants to appear. His lips are cherry red and Louis really wants to kiss the little pout off of them, but he realizes he hasn’t even answered in his daze of _prettyprettypretty._ “What was that, love?” he asks, lilting in a way that Zayn once told him made him sound quite sexy when they were high, smoke curling out of his mouth when he’d said it. Louis’s pretty sure that he just sounds like a phone-sex operator, but it seemed to be working well enough with the way the bartender’s lips quirk up at the corners.

 

“Your drink,” he says slowly, voice like warm honey, “do you not like it? I thought you might’ve wanted something, but.” He trails off, raising one shoulder in a little shrug and batting his eyelashes like they’re in sixth form. It’s then that Louis notices the way his white button-up only actually has like, two buttons done, and he can just manage to see sparrows peeking out from either side on Harry’s chest, lovely tattoos Louis would enjoy tracing with his tongue.

 

Louis’ gaze flicks down, and sure enough there’s a painfully bright colored drink set in front of him, little paper umbrella and all. Huh. “I didn’t even see it, actually,” he explains honestly, looking back up to the boy. “What is it, then?”

 

“Sex On the Beach, obviously.”

 

The bartender’s really grinning now, dimples digging into his cheeks so that Louis wants to press his thumb into the little indent. Louis can’t help but think he looks a bit like some kind of Disney princess, and he definitely blames his little sisters for that, he definitely did _not_ watch Tangled on the way here; that would be just silly.

 

“Obviously,” Louis agrees, leaning in a bit closer to the bar with his forearms resting against the polished wood, “That’s very kind of you. To whom do I owe this?”

 

Taking his his hand slightly away from where he’d been chewing his thumbnail, the boy hides a giggle in his gigantic palm, a giggle, honestly, before folding his hands back underneath his chin and catching his lower lip between his teeth. “It’s Harry,” he drawls, each syllable dragging out as the words tumble from his very nice mouth. “My name’s Harry.”

 

“Harry,” Louis rolls the name around his mouth, giving a little nod of satisfaction after a moment. “A good name, that. Cheeky like you. ‘M Louis,” he adds, motioning to himself before extending the hand for Harry to shake. He cringes almost immediately, because really? A handshake? He definitely has better game than this.

 

Harry either doesn’t notice Louis’ expression or chooses not to comment, taking it all in stride and wrapping his fingers around Louis’ own. His hand completely dwarfs Louis’, warm calloused fingers pressing against his palm and squeezing for just a second to long to be wholly casual.

 

Running a hand along the stubble scattered along his chin, Louis tries very hard not to think about what those long  fingers would be like pushed inside of him. It works, mostly.

 

“Well, Louis,” Harry nods, and Louis quite likes the way Harry says his name, low and smooth, “are you going to drink that, or is all of my hard work going to go to waste?” His smile is teasing, though, and Louis wants to tug on the springy curl that’s starting to fall out of where it’d been neatly tucked into Harry’s dumb headscarf.

 

 He really needs get grip; he’s a grown man for Christ’s sake.

 

Louis wraps his fingers around the glass, moisture dripping onto his skin as he raises it to his lips and tips it back.

 

It’s possibly the worst drink he’d ever tasted.

 

Louis’ had a lot of shitty drinks, ones that were too sweet or too strong with cheap alcohol, but this really takes the cake. If the cake was made of too much tequila and orange vodka, that is. It’s cloyingly sweet, but still manages to burn like someone dropped a lit match down his throat. It tastes like someone handed a three year old a bunch of bottles and told them to have a party, and Louis finds himself struggling not to gag as he forces himself to swallow. It suddenly becomes very, very clear why he was one of the only people sitting at the bar.

 

He must manage to keep his face someone neutral, which is a feat within itself, because Harry is still giving that goofy puppy smile, not so much as a hint in his expression  that it was all a big joke. “What d’you think?” Harry asks hopefully, catching his bottom lip between his thumb and finger shyly.

 

The words are out before he can reconsider them, pushing their way out of his throat and into the air. “Fantastic,” Louis lies, throwing Harry a encouraging smile. Harry answers it with one of his own, his entire face lighting up with the way he beams. He raises an arm to to fix his hair, but in his excitement bumps his elbow against the glass and watches with barely concealed horror as it topples over and spills onto Louis’ shoes.

 

The drink shatters onto the marble floor with a noise that makes Louis’ wince, thankful that the music blaring throughout the venue manages to muffle it significantly. Harry must take his expression as a sign of pain, though, because suddenly he’s clambering around the bar and crouching in front of Louis with eyes so apologetic and worried that it looks more like he just accidentally stabbed Louis in the leg with the glass lying innocently under his feet. Louis can’t help but feel a sense of relief at the sight of the drink spilled carelessly on the glossy floor, because Harry’s pretty and sweet, but he’s not quite sure that he could've drank any more of it without retching. He also gets a first look at Harry’s legs, slim thighs wrapped in painfully tight black jeans that Louis wants to peel off. He also manages to sneak a look at Harry’s cute little bum, so it’s not a total loss.

 

“I’m _so_ sorry,” Harry breaths, hands fluttering helplessly over where the sticky liquid is starting to drip off of his shoes and onto the ever-growing puddle. “I’m such a klutz, I totally just ruined your shoes, oh my God, sorry.” He’s rambling, voice quicker than it’s been since they started this conversation. Which is to say that it was about an average pace for any other person, but still. Louis lays a hand on Harry’s shoulder, stilling the hand that’s uselessly trying to wipe the leather covering his toes.

 

“Hey,” Louis says softly, moving his hand down to give his bicep a comforting squeeze through the stiff material of Harry’s shirt. “It’s okay, really. These shoes are old anyways.” They’re not, he just bought them last week and they probably costed more than a month’s salary for Harry, but he didn’t want to see Harry’s face any more saddened than the pout already downturning his lips. “Don’t worry about it, darling.”

 

Harry melts into the touch instantly, his shoulders slumping in relief when he realizes Louis isn’t angry. “ ‘m still sorry.”

 

“And I’m still not upset. Just a mistake, yeah? It happens.” Louis doesn’t resist the urge this time when Harry looks up and a curl is falling in front of his face, reaching out and twirling it between his fingers before pulling it with a cheeky smile.

 

The pull wasn’t particularly hard or strong, but it still manages to draw out a reaction from Harry that Louis didn’t really expect. His mouth falls open, lips parting with a pleased little sigh as his blood rushes to flush his cheeks prettily. He leans into the touch, and Louis’ fingertips find themselves buried in Harry’s hair at the base of his neck right where it’s tied back with the scarf.

 

Louis jerks his hand away after a moment, storing the reaction in the farthest corner of his mind and willing himself to place his hand back onto his own thigh. Harry stands up on wobbly legs, embarrassment coloring his face even redder than it already is. “Um, sorry again,” he mumbles, crossing back behind the bar, a wall between them that Louis didn't like much.

 

A smirk spreads on Louis’ face, slow and lazy as his eyes crinkle at the corners. “How on Earth did you manage to get this job?” he questions teasingly, shaking his head.

 

That seems to snap Harry out of his daze, and he juts his lips out in an exaggerated frown, hands sitting high on his hips. “Heeey,” he whines, “I’ll have you know that I’m a stellar bartender.”

 

Louis just raises an eyebrow.

 

Harry slumps a little bit, huffing a dramatic sigh. “I’m mates with Steven,” he explains, rolling his eyes when he sees the way Louis’ face remains blankly confused. “The groom? Were you even invited here?”

 

Snorting, Louis nods, face finally gaining some comprehension of the situation. “So he just let you bartend? He couldn’t of just hired one?”

 

“I may have accidentally told him I used to bartend?” It sounds more like a question than a statement, and Louis can’t help but bark out a laugh. The edge of his slacks are a bit sticky against his shin, and he still feels just as hot in his suit as he did before, tie pulled loose around his neck, but Louis can’t help but feel a bit hopelessly endeared.

 

“Accidentally? How did you manage that?”

 

“I work at a bakery and there’s a café built in, so I figured it couldn’t be that hard. It's the same thing, really.”

 

“Is it?”

 

Harry deflates, face scrunching up in a pout. “No,” he sighs, picking apart a tiny napkin from the stack sorted at the edge of the bar deftly and pushing the pieces into a decent  sized stack. “Not at all. There’re no sweet old ladies and I have to wear this dumb uniform.” He looks very much like a grumpy kitten, arms crossed over his chest and wrinkles creasing between his brows. Harry brightens abruptly, looking back down at Louis like he just remember he’s still here. Which, rude. “But at least you’re here!”

 

Humming in agreement, Louis gives Harry a thoughtful stare. “You’re definitely making this whole thing a lot more tolerable.”

 

Harry seems to preen under the bit of praise Louis’s given him for a moment, before his face contorts into confusion and he cocks his head to the side curiously. “You don’t like weddings?” he asks, seemingly baffled by the realization.

 

“Not really, no. Too many people that the couple doesn’t even like being rude and loud,  and awful food, and too many boring meaningless  speeches.  I want something simple, y’know? If I get married, I just want the people I love there. I want to just be thinking about the person I’m in love with, not stressing over what color plates to order.” Louis feels a bit embarrassed by the end of his mini rant, realizing just how caught up he got in a way he really never did, but something about Harry made him just want to talk.

 

He feels less embarrassed when he looks back up at Harry, who’s chewing on the inside of his cheek and staring at Louis with absolute  adoration painted across his face. “If you don’t mind me asking, why’re you here, then? If you don’t even know the groom’s name and you don’t like weddings, I’m a bit worried that you’re just here for the free booze and snuck in through the back.”

 

A chuckle bubbles from Louis’ lips at that, and Harry seems to absolutely preen from the reacts it draws out of him. “Definitely not a wedding crasher, no. Does it look like I need to take advantage of an open bar?” he asks, bringing at hand down in from of himself to gesture to his impeccably fitted suit. “My client is the bride, actually. I work for a record label in west London, and my boss seems to think we need to seem more ‘engaged’ with the people we’re producing,” Louis explains, curling his fingers into air quotes. “So I’m stuck here tonight.”

 

Harry hums, before his face brightens like he’s remembered something. “Hey, Lou?”

 

“Hm?”

 

“I guess you can bar-ely handle being at this wedding,” Harry says smugly, waving a hand along the top of the bar.

 

Louis groans, shaking his head. “That was awful.”

 

Harry frowns indignantly, put out by Louis’ lack of uproarious laughter. “No it wasn’t! That was really good!”

 

“Honestly terrible, love.”

 

Harry opens his mouth to further defend himself but gets cut off by a sweaty man tapping the edge of the bar impatiently, complaining about the poor service. Harry goes bashful at that, mumbling out an apology before pouring him the rum and coke he’s demanding. Louis finds comfort in the fact that it’s probably disgusting. The man scoffs one more time before walking away, drink clutched in one of  his meaty hands.

 

Eyes glued to the bar, Harry picks at his sleeve for only a moment before giggling, gaze flicking back up to Louis’ as his pink tongue darts out to wet his lips. “I put Pepsi in that,” he whispers conspiratorially, leaning into Louis like he’s telling him a secret, despite no one else being sat at the bar near them. “Instead of coke, I mean,” he adds, like Louis wouldn’t understand the gravity of his prank otherwise.

 

Louis just stares at him for a long moment, eyebrows shooting to his hairline before he throws his head back and laughs like Harry just told him the best joke he’s ever heard. Tilting his to the side, Louis watched him with something like fascination. “What _are_ you?”

 

“Harry Styles,” Harry tells him happily, pinching a curl in his fingertips like Louis had done before. “Full time baker, part time bartender. Just a free spirit who likes cats, if I’m honest .” He’s so close that Louis can count the flecks in his eyes, the eyelashes that are casting shadows down his cheeks. His mouth tilts up into a grin. 

 

“And how old are you, Harry Styles?”

 

“Just turned twenty in February.” He sounds proud of it, chin tilting up slightly.”

 

“Ah, nice. Twenty was a fun age for me.”

 

Harry raises an eyebrow at that, his expression attempting to appear mocking. “And how old are you, then? Fifty?” he asks sarcastically, leaning back on his heels for a moment.

 

“Twenty-six, actually. I appreciate the ego boost, though. I think I look more of a forty-five, with all of this gray hair,” he sighs, motioning to his completely brown and full head of hair.   

 

“Funny,” Harry mumbles, but he’s not even trying to mask the grin that’s stretched across his face.

 

“I know, I'm hilarious.”

 

“Someone’s confident.”

 

Louis’ answering smile is almost predatory. “Should I not be?”

 

Harry’s expression falls, and he immediately shakes his head quickly. “I mean, of course you should be. Self confidence is like, awesome,” he says with a pout, like he’d just completely put out Louis’ inner hope for himself.

 

“You're so cute. It’s alright, babe. I’m not offended by your cheekiness. I think I quite like you.”

 

And just like that, Harry’s back in the game. “I know I’m cute,” he agrees, before his smile turns into something more falsely lazy. “I’m a catch.”

 

“I can tell. You’re very pretty, y’know.”

 

Harry’s cheeks go rosy at that, and he catches his lower lip between perfectly white teeth.  “Would you like to know what time I get off?”

 

“I think that’s up to me, isn’t it, love?”

 

Harry’s pupils dilate, and he lets out a surprised whine. “Christ.”

 

“It’s Louis Tomlinson, but I appreciate the sentiment,” Louis teases, his hand raising on its own accord to run down Harry’s cheek, thumb putting light pressure on where Harry’s dimple would be. “Would you like to come home with me?”

 

“Um. Yes, yeah, sure,” Harry agrees, tripping over his words and making Louis bite his cheek to try and keep his expression neutral.

 

“Good. I do want to know what time you get out of work, too, though.”

 

Harry tries  to give him an eye roll, but the way he’s blushing gives him away. “Party ends in a little less than an hour, so probably around midnight?” He sounds worried that Louis is going to just say never mind and leave, which is just ridiculous.

 

“Then I’ll be here ‘til midnight. Lucky for you, I have nowhere else to be.” Let it be said that while Louis loves his reality telly and the Night of Self-Pity that he had all planned out, he really isn’t quite invested enough to reject a lovely boy like Harry, ever.

 

“I’ll help you get settled in, then,” Harry says seriously and, much to Louis’ amusement pours him a glass of water.

 

 ***

 

There’s a drink rush right before the bar closes, one that leaves Harry flustered and scrambling to pour the first liquid he sees into people’s glasses with his lips red and raw from the way he’s been biting at them.

 

The little whispers Louis gives him about wanting to fuck him over the bar probably has something to do with his flushed state, too.

 

By the time the most guests have left, Harry’s capped the bottles and is grabbing his bag from a compartment underneath the bar, slinging it over his shoulder. He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet excitedly, plucking the money out of the small tip jar.  Louis is honestly shocked over how Harry had managed to get anything at all with the way he probably dropped more glasses than he gave out. After he’s cleared it of the coins sitting at the bottom, he turns to face Louis and adjusts his grip on the strap that’s brushing against his hip. “Can we go now?”

 

“Someone’s eager,” Louis notes, grinning at the embarrassment coloring Harry’s face. “Texted the driver a little while ago, he should be out there by now. Ready when you are.”

 

 Harry squints at that, pushing the little gate for the bar open and shutting it gently behind himself. “You have a chauffeur? What exactly do you do at this record label, Louis Tomlinson?” he asks curiously, stepping to stand beside Louis, who slides off of the barstool to his feet.

 

“It’s a company car, not a limo,” Louis says, eyebrow arched challengingly. “I’m not that posh, Harold.” He realizes he has to look up just slightly when he talks to Harry, but the younger boy is really just a lanky expanse of gangly limbs and knobby knees.

 

Harry’s face forms an exaggerated pout, and he pretends to look around at the other guests interestedly. “Shame, I was only flirting with you in hopes of becoming a proper sugar baby. Suppose I’ll have to look elsewhere,” he sighs, moving to step away. Louis’ hand shoots out before he can, though, fingers circling his wrist and tugging him back to his side.

 

Harry comes back easily, melting against Louis like he’s been waiting for the contact all night and shaking his arm out of Louis’  grip to tangle their fingers together. Watching the slightly wary expression encompassing Harry’s face as he does so, Louis squeezes their hands together with a reassuring smile.

 

They walk at a even pace to the exit of the grand hall, hand in hand and faces bright as they go over to say their goodbyes to the couple that the event was for in the first place. Thankfully they’re both too drunk on newlywed love and the pre-made drinks that had spewed from petite fountains to speak for long.  Louis is eternally grateful, because he really would like to have his mouth somewhere on Harry as soon as possible.

 

Pulling Harry along, Louis takes his hand out his grip, bringing it to rest lightly on the small of Harry’s back so he can guide him out the large entryway. He’s practically radiating heat through the thin material of his shirt, but Harry still shivers a little when the air hits them as they cross through the doors into the night. When Louis starts to unbutton his suit jacket Harry shakes his head, waving his hands in front of himself with wide eyes.

 

“It’s really alright. Don’t worry about me,” Harry insists, but Louis just rolls his eyes, slipping the jacket off and stepping in front of Harry to throw it over his shoulders. It’s too small to really fit him, but Harry still snuggles into it with a shy smile. “You’re ridiculous,” he mumbles, fingers curled around the lapels to prevent it from slipping off. Louis just smiles. Harry’s tongue flicks out to wet his lips, and Louis’ eyes track the movement instinctively. It’s right then he notices the way he’s standing quite close to Harry, and he finds himself leaning up at the same time Harry starts to lean down.

 

Of course it’s right then that a drunk woman wanders out of the building with her date, cackling and pressing her hands all over his shirt as he tries to prevent her from stripping him right then and there. He succeeds, but it’s enough of a distraction that Louis is snapped out of his trace and steps back, putting some distance between himself and Harry and taking his place by his side again. It’s silly, considering they both know exactly what they’re planning on getting up to at Louis’ flat, but the moment is temporarily lost anyways.

 

“Shall we?” Louis asks, holding out an arm that Harry takes gratefully with a beaming smile.

 

The car is waiting in front as Louis expected, and they make their way over with Harry’s heeled boots clicking against the cement sidewalk on every step. Louis’ eyes flick down to look at them, and he can’t help but snort when he sees the shiny gold leather of Harry’s shoes.

 

He opens the door of the car before Harry can question his amusement, waiting for him to climb inside before sliding in as well. Alberto, a colleague of Louis' stuck with the unfortunate task of having to listen to Louis whine the entire way here, twists his body around to give Louis a puzzled look, before noticing Harry pressed close against him “Back to the flat, still?” he asks knowingly, pushing the car back into drive and pulling away from the curb.

 

Louis nods, before realizing that Alberto can’t actually see him from where his gaze is locked on the road in front of him. “Yeah, just to the flat,” he says, noting the way Harry is relaxed against him, calm in a way that  just won’t do. Louis picks his hand off of where it’s been resting in his lap and places it high on Harry’s thigh, fingers digging into the denim of his trousers. He keeps his own face passive, thumb rubbing casual circles over the inseam just under Harry’s zipper. Harry’s breath hitches almost imperceptibly, but Louis sees the way his Adam’s apple bobs and his mouth to curl into a smirk.

 

“How was the party, then?” Alberto obviously doesn’t know the way Harry’s fists are clenching by his sides, blush rising up his throat as he bites his lip.

 

Louis shrugs, his shoulder brushing against Harry’s as he does. He speaks as his hand snakes up even higher, fingers dancing along the front of Harry’s jeans. “Alright, I guess. Bit dull, at first. Not a complete waste of my time.” He murmurs the last past directly to Harry, leaning in  so his breath is puffing hot against Harry’s cheek.

 

 Harry’s head tilts to the side subconsciously, baring his pale throat just enough that Louis can duck his head and press his lips to it in a fleeting kiss. Harry looks about a second away from crawling into Louis’ lap, eyes gone hazy with arousal when he turns his head to nose at the line of Louis’ jaw, and Louis presses the heel of his palm against Harry as a warning.

 

It gains him the reaction he was hoping for. Harry squirms like he desperately wants to buck up into the touch but otherwise remains still, eyelashes fluttering against Louis’ skin and tickling his chin. Louis kisses his hair in approval, smelling whatever fruity  shampoo Harry must use and spicy cologne. There’s something else in there that Louis can’t quite place, but Louis brushes it off and keeps his hand pressed against where Harry’s starting to get hard.

 

The rest of the drive goes similarly, Alberto asking Louis about the party and Louis acting as if he isn’t driving Harry absolutely mad with the ever-present weight of his palm pressed against him. At one point Alberto directs a question at Harry, who sputters for a moment trying to think of how speaking works while Louis grinds his hand down a little harder. He eventually spits out a short response that barely hides how turned on he is, voice raspy and low.

 

Alberto doesn’t ask him anything else.

 

By the time they’re pulling up to the flat Harry’s staring at him pleadingly, big doe eyes blinking at Louis as the doors click unlocked. “You lads have a good night, yeah?” Alberto tells them, and Louis tosses a goodbye over his shoulder as he drags Harry out of the car and towards the building.

 

***

 

The ride up to Louis’ flat in the elevator is too long, Louis’ lips pressed against Harry’s temple instead of his mouth because he knows once he really starts kissing Harry, he isn’t going to be able to stop. Harry’s constantly moving, shifting from foot to foot and pressing so close to Louis it’s like he thinks that if he tries hard enough, he’ll be able to glue himself to Louis through sheer willpower. Louis doesn’t mind the efforts at all, Harry’s bum wiggling against his front purposefully.

 

When the elevator rings and the doors slide open, Harry’s the one who stumbles out first, leading Louis along the hallway despite the fact that Louis never told him which number his flat is. Louis allows Harry to walk ahead for the short amount of time it takes to find his door, were he yanks Harry to a stop and digs his hand into his back pocket. Pulling out the keys, Louis surprises himself with how steady his hands are when he unlocks the door and pushes it open.

 

Harry only gets a moment to appreciate the inside, wanting to run his fingers along the beautiful piano sitting in the corner and stretch out on the couch he can see through the clear glass doors leading to Louis’ balcony. He only gets a moment, though, because Louis pushes him back against the door and he doesn’t have time to worry about Louis’ nice coat slipping off his shoulders and onto the the floor before Louis is kissing him for all he’s worth.

 

Louis kisses a lot like he speaks, confident and brash. His tongue pokes out to trace the seam of Harry’s lips, already red from having bitten them the entire car ride to stifle the noises that threatened to spill out of him. Harry's mouth drops open with a sigh and he wraps his arms around Louis’ neck as he licks into his slack mouth.

 

Harry sucks on Louis’ tongue after a delayed moment, happy with the pleased sounds it draws from him. When Louis’ hands slide down his chest and his thumbs wiggle under the waistband of his tight jeans, Harry’s head falls back against the door with a thump. Louis doesn’t hesitate to attach his lips to the crook of Harry’s neck, little whimpers leaving Harry as he thread one of his hands through the soft hair at Louis’ nape, where gel hasn’t touched it.

 

Louis reluctantly takes his hands away from Harry’s waist to hastily unbutton his shirt, an easy task considering there’s two done up anyways. Harry pushes the shirt off the rest of the way himself, letting it drop to the floor and kicking it away from where it’d pooled at their feet.

 

“Bed,” Harry rasps out when Louis’ fingers start to undo the button of his jeans. “We should, um. Bed.”

 

Louis’ lips tilt up in amusement at Harry’s inability to form full sentences, giving a small nod and guiding Harry across the main room they’re standing in and down the long expanse of a hallway past the kitchen. Harry wants to further inspect the art scattered randomly on the walls, want to explore this monster of a flat for hours, but right now all he can think about is the hold Louis has on his elbow and the way he looks like he wants to devour Harry.

 

He takes his hand away from Harry to unbutton his own shirt, fumbling with the buttons as he and Harry find their way around the flat to Louis’ bedroom. His shirt is thrown down carelessly, and Harry is just stepping over it as Louis resumes his tight grip on Harry’s arm.

 

Louis flings open the last door on the left of the hall and makes a beeline to the bed located right in the center of the room. Harry’s flat on his back before he can even process how he got there, sheets soft under his bare back. The mattress dips when Louis crawls on, looming above Harry with feathery hair sticking to his forehead and a wild grin on his face. “Hi,” he whispers, huffing out a barely there laugh when Harry almost knocks him over with a shift of his impossibly long legs.

 

“Oops,” Harry giggles, eyes too bright as he wriggles under Louis. Snorting, Louis cuts him off with a bruising kiss, reaching down to tug on the zipper of Harry’s jeans. He managed to tug the button out before, so it’s easy enough when he hooks his fingers under the waistband and pushes, taking his lips off of Harry’s despite the whine he receives for it. Sitting back so he’s sitting on his heels by Harry’s feet, he tugs off the jeans, surprised when he realized Harry isn’t wearing anything underneath them. His cock lays full and heavy against his belly when Louis pulls his jeans down his hips, getting them off the rest of the way and tossing them off of the bed to the floor.

 

Louis takes a moment to really take Harry in, the way he’s sprawled out naked on his back, chest heaving with each breath he sucks in. He’s got a butterfly tattoo on his toned stomach, as well as plenty of other ink trailing down his arms. Louis’s going to take time to see what they all are later, but right now he just breathes out, drawing a line down Harry’s chest with his forefinger.

 

Harry’s headscarf must’ve fallen off somewhere along the way to the bedroom, and now his hair is spread around his face in loose waves, a few corkscrew curls closer to the base of his neck. Experimentally, he trails his hand up even further, tangling his fingers and Harry’s hair and pulling. The flush on his cheeks spreads all the way down his throat and the top of his chest, and Harry’s eyelids flutter dazedly. “Lou, please,” he pants out desperately, fingers curling by his sides.

 

“What is it, darling?” Louis asks gently, hand splayed over the tattoo on Harry’s tummy.

 

“Just _touch_ me,” Harry whines, his hands

 

“So gorgeous,” he murmurs, ducking down to kiss a line up Harry’s stomach and savor the way Harry inhales sharply as he drags his tongue over one of his nipples. One of his four nipples, Louis notes, thrilled at this new discovery as he skims one with his teeth. Harry reacts beautifully, arching his back and letting out a soft little moan as his hands scrabble for purchase on Louis’ back.  One of his hands comes up, thumb flick at Harry’s other nipple, brushing over it with blunt fingernails until it’s stiffened and Harry’s absolutely _losing_ it, sweet noises falling freely out of him as Louis gives the other, smaller nipples the same attention. They’re obviously not as sensitive but Harry seems to love it anyways, eyes squeezed shut tight and milky throat exposed from the way his head’s thrown back.

 

“Louis, want you to-fuck,” Harry stops to breathe, Louis pointedly  not taking a moment to stop the way Harry’s nipple is pinched between his fingertips. “Want you to fuck me, please, please,” he begs, writhing as he bucks his hips up. His cock drags against Louis’ slacks, and he whimpers at the sensitivity he’s already feeling.

 

Louis finally takes his hands away to brace himself on his forearms above Harry, pressing their foreheads together and brushing his nose against Harry’s. “Yeah? Want me to ruin you?” he asks breathlessly, nipping at the curve of Harry's jaw just to make Harry squirm even more. Harry nods, head jerking with the motion as he swallows.

 

“Please.”

 

Louis chuckles, tilting his head to kiss Harry lightly, just a small peck of their lips. “So polite,” he coos, grinding down on Harry and letting out a moan of his own. Harry’s eyes widen at the noise and his hands fly to undo Louis’ slacks with trembling fingers. Louis wiggles out of them along with his boxers, and they both fall off the bed, forgotten with the rest of Louis and Harry’s clothes.

 

When Louis lays back down on Harry, the feeling of their bare cocks sliding together against their bellies making them both draw in shaky breaths. Louis only gives one thrust against him before climbing off of Harry again, wobbling on shaky knees to pull open the top drawer of his side table. He tosses a condom by Harry’s head and keeps a bottle of lube clutched in his hand, before promptly making his way down the bed until his face is at eye-level with Harry’s cock.

 

“You’re quite a big boy, aren’t you,” Louis says casually, before he grips the base of Harry’s dick and proceeds to lick along the drippy slit.

 

Harry’s fingers curl tightly in the softness of the duvet, a choked off whine coming from the back of his throat. “Fuck,” he whispers, trembling as Louis sucks the head of his cock into his mouth and drips lube onto three of his fingers. One of his hands flies to grip Louis’ hair, not pushing or pulling, just a pressure to ground himself more than anything.  He barely notices when Louis presses a wet finger to his rim, too distracted by the way Louis’ tongue is running against the underside of him and his other hand is circled around the few inches that he can’t take, slim fingers sliding over him just right.

 

Louis pressed one of his fingers inside one smooth movement, sinking it in up to the knuckle as his mouth works over Harry. Harry just keens, profanities falling out of him in a way that would normally have him blushing. Louis waits for Harry to adjust to the feeling before moving it around more, not searching for Harry’s prostate, just getting him ready. Louis doesn't  want to give him to much stimulation to soon, just thrusts the finger enough that Harry doesn’t mind when he slips another in alongside it.

 

He can see Harry’s stomach clenching, and his gaze trails up more until he’s looking directly into Harry’s overwhelmed face. Louis can feel his eyes getting wet as he sinks down farther, relaxing his throat at the same time he presses a third finger into him. He pulls off after a moment to draw in a shaky breath as Harry does the same, staring up at the ceiling as his hips rock against Louis’ fingers in little figure eights. When Louis finally starts curling his fingers, it’s barely more than a few seconds before Harry’s legs jerk, lips parting in a silent moan. “Lou, Lou, Lou,” he mumbles, starting to really ride Louis’ fingers. Louis is all to aware of his own cock pressed between his body and the sheets, painfully hard in a way that’s getting hard to ignore.

 

But Louis just rubs the pads of his fingers over Harry’s spot for a moment and admires the way Harry’s thighs are trembling as he presses his mouth to one. He sucks a lovebite into the soft inner part of his thigh, hairless and milky so that when Louis pulls away the contrast of purple against Harry’s pale skin is just beautiful.

 

Harry starts to tug at Louis’ hair lightly, more or less to just to get his attention. Louis hums, laving over the bruise he’s left for a second longer than necessary before pulling his head up to give Harry a questioning look. When Harry realizes he’s waiting for him to speak, he manages to stutter out a breathy explanation. “Want you to, um. Want you inside me, m’ready.”

 

Louis ducks down and presses one more kiss to the jut of Harry’s hip before nodding; pulling his fingers out of Harry and moving up the bed to kiss the impatient whine that leaves Harry’s mouth at the sudden emptiness. “Of course, baby. I want that, too. Want that so much,” he murmurs, kissing the top of the nose. Harry smiles up at him with bright eyes at that, lips cherry red. Louis grabs the foil packet next to Harry’s head and tears it open in a swift motion, rolling the condom onto himself and grabbing the lube from where it rests near Louis’ knee. Harry shakes his head, though, when Louis snaps the cap to the lube off again.

 

“Let me,” Harry pleads, snaking a hand down to grab the bottle from Louis and squeeze some into his palm. When Harry finally wraps a hand around Louis’ cock, the contact after so long without has Louis making a soft noise. Harry slicks him up in smooth strokes, thumb sliding over the head and fingers sliding back coat his shaft.

 

Louis’ hand catches Harry’s, reluctantly pushing it away even though he wanted nothing more than to push into the touch. Leaning down, he kisses Harry, sweet and soft before he moves to kneel between Harry’s legs. Hooking his hands under Harry’s knees and pushing them apart, Harry let his legs wrap around Louis’ waist before Louis can ask how he wants it. “Wanna see you,” Harry whispers, his hair fanned around him. Louis thinks he’d make a lovely angel.

 

“Of course,” Louis murmurs,  bracing himself above Harry and biting lightly at one of his nipples just to hear him whimper again before he reaches down to grab his own cock. He watches Harry’s face intensely as he positions himself against his hole, before pushing in as slowly as he could manage.

 

And Harry’s just so _tight_ , gripping him like a vice as he slides inside, not stopping until he feels himself bottom out and his hips are cradling Harry’s arse. Louis’ breath leaves him in a long woosh, and he thinks he must feel as completely fucked as Harry looks. “You’re so fucking tight, darling. Feels absolutely amazing,” he breathes, kissing the little furrow between Harry’s brows as his body adjusts.

 

Harry’s eyes are wide, pupils blown so large that Louis can only see the edge of his irises. He keeps inhaling sharply, nails digging into Louis’ back so hard he knows there’ll be red marks by tomorrow. He doesn't think Louis will mind all that much. “God,” is all he says, hands sliding down to cup Louis’ bum and give it a short squeeze. “God, Louis. Move, you can move.”

 

Louis swallows, pulling out halfway only to push right back into Harry in a long thrust. Harry’s heels dig into his back, and he pulls Louis forwards with every thrust. He’s been on the edge since Louis got his mouth around him, and the fullness of Louis’ cock heavy inside of him makes loud moans fall unashamedly out of him.

 

Louis’ thrusts found a good pace soon enough, short, shallow thrusts that made them both gasp and whimper. He looks down and sees the way Harry’s body is just swallowing him up and groans, changing the angle as he tilts his hips up. Louis finds what he’s looking for soon enough, hitting Harry’s prostate dead on and drawing out a desperate noise that just encourages Louis to keep himself in that position. Harry pushes himself back to meet Louis’ thrusts, and he preens over the dirty things Louis mumbles into his shoulder on each push.

 

“So fucking pretty, Hazza. Wanted to do this the second I saw you. You know how good you look like this, just taking me like you were made for it? So fucking fit.”

 

They’ve both been wound so tight from the night that it doesn't take much to get themselves close, Harry’s cock dripping untouched against his stomach and his hole clenching around Louis sooner than he’d expected. Louis balances himself on one of his forearms and reaches down to get a hold on Harry’s cock, wrapping a loose fist around him and jerking him in time with his thrusts. It’s not even a minute before Harry’s eyes start squeezing shut, little _uhuhuh_ ’s being punched out of his throat. Louis feels a familiar heat pooling in his stomach, and he twists his wrist in a way that makes Harry sob.

 

“Lou,” Harry gasps out, his fingers trembling and slipping against the sweat on Louis’ back as he searches for something to keep himself together. “M’close, really close.”

 

Louis just thrusts faster, his thighs straining where he’s holding up Harry’s legs over his waist as well as his own body. “Come for me, then. Let go,” he urges, lifting his head to kiss Harry. It ends up mostly being them just panting into each others mouths, but Harry appreciates it all the same.

 

Harry comes with a high whine, dripping over Louis’ fist and onto his own stomach as Louis fucks the orgasm right out of him. It only takes one, two more thrusts before he’s coming himself, grunting as he buries himself into Harry and comes hot inside of the condom.

 

He stays inside Harry a bit longer, until he’s gone soft and oversensitive. Harry winces when he pulls out and Louis kisses his cheek, tying off the condom and throwing it in the general direction of his waste bin. Sliding off the bed on shaky legs, Louis stumbles off to the bathroom and finds himself rooting around for a flannel, running it under the sink once he finds it and wandering back into the bedroom.

 

Harry’s still breathing heavily, eyes glazed and cheeks flushed when he flops his head to the side to smile at Louis. “Hey there,” he says quietly, making grabby hand towards Louis and tugging him down on the bed once he’s in reaching distance. Louis goes easily, flopping next to him and dragging the wet flannel across Harry’s come-sticky tummy. He hums happily, curling into Louis’ chest once he’s fairly clean and wrapping around him like an oversized octopus.

 

“I hope you’re not planning on kicking me out, ‘cause I’m not moving,” Harry hums, nose tucked under Louis’ chin and curls tickling his nose.

 

Louis shakes his head, making a careful effort not to jostle Harry with the movement. “You can stay. I don’t mind a good cuddle with a pretty boy.”

 

“Bet you say that to all the pretty boys.”

 

“Only the ones who make exceptionally shitty drinks,” Louis mumbled, kissing the top of Harry’s head with a grin that he can’t see.

 

Harry grumbles in annoyance, but doesn’t complain when Louis brings his arms around him and pulls him so he’s mostly on top of his chest. When they fall asleep a few minutes later, it’s wrapped up in a tangle of limbs and sleepy kisses.

 

 

When Louis wakes up the next morning Harry’s not there, the sheets next to him still a bit warm from where he had laid. There is, however, a steaming mug sitting on his nightstand and a note written haphazardly on a napkin Harry must’ve found in the cupboard. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes Louis plucks the note out first, reading it with a grin that slowly spreads on his entire face.

 

_Sorry I had to leave early, I got called into work :( but if you hadn’t noticed before, I like you a latte. (Get it? Because I made you a latte? I also used all of your milk, sorry!) -xxxx H_

There’s a number scrawled at the bottom of the note, and a bunch of smiley faces all around the napkin with various sized noses. Louis rolls his eyes fondly, but the number is programmed in his phone before he even gets out of bed and the latte warm in Louis’ stomach the second after he takes his first sip.

 

It’s possibly the best latte he’s ever had.

**Author's Note:**

> huge thanks to noa for helping me with this, hope you guys like it! x
> 
> check me out on tumblr
> 
> [here](http://www.deuxlouis.tumblr.com)


End file.
